


videotape

by vellumspace



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: M/M, Mild Blood, Needles, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Rape/Non-con Elements, Scout Abuse, Sexual Abuse, Starvation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-13 06:34:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28773921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vellumspace/pseuds/vellumspace
Summary: Medic records his sessions with Scout. Even though that dark closet makes the footage look grainy around the edges.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 21





	videotape

**Author's Note:**

> Heed the tags. Don't continue if this isn't your cup of tea.

Scout sniffled, staring at the concrete wall blankly. The lines were crooked, he noticed. 

The storage closet behind Medic's sickbay had been emptied of its shelving units, leaving behind bare walls, the large grey bricks layered unevenly. The concrete floor was hard and cold, thin spidery cracks running along the surface. Two dusty lightbulbs hung from exposed wires in the middle of the closet. Only one of them was lit, its dim amber light a translucent pool, doing nothing to illuminate the small space. The closet smelled musty, cold air stagnant, a scent Scout had already gotten used to.

Breathing shallowly, Scout moistened his lips, cold and tinged a greyish purple. The underside of his tongue tentatively ran over where his bottom lip had split, the skin parting if he opened his mouth too wide. The remaining blood left a mineral, salty metallic taste.

It hurt every time he swallowed, throat sore, and he wasn't sure if it was from screaming or if he was starting to get sick. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, felt dry and spongey. Curled up in one of the corners farthest from the door, he pulled his legs closer to himself, bringing his arms close to his chest.

Light blue eyes flicked down to his hands, the wrist bones protruding. The greenish blue of his veins were visible, bones and tendons moving beneath his skin as he flexed his fingers experimentally. It wasn't like that before.

Burgundy lines wrapped around both his wrists, his skin raw where the wire had tightened. He remembered pulling at the restraints, the metal wire digging deep into his wrist and cutting through his skin. It hurt, the welts stinging and sensitive. 

One of the cuts reopened as he moved his hand, dark red filling the crease of sliced skin, a little bead of blood beginning to form. Scout worked some saliva and pressed his tongue against it, the moisture soothing the tender flesh a little and slowing down the bleeding, tasting iron.

Flecks of dust floated in the amber light, the tiny particles moving slowly through the air. Scout watched them for a few seconds, following one as it passed centimeters below the lightbulb. He stared into the white of the glowing filament inside the glass until it seared his retinas. A few seconds later, he looked away, a black splotch now in the center of his vision, which faded slowly to fuchsia blue as he blinked. Looking into the rough texture of the brick, it occurred to him that he didn't truly care if he blinded himself.

The splotch dissipated, the bright glow of the filament aggravating the dull headache that gnawed at the back of his skull, up through his temples. He laid his head down, forehead pressed against the cold concrete. Curled in on himself more, wincing as his frame ached with the movement, muscles sore and his limbs weak. Goosebumps decorated his pale skin, and he shivered, pressing himself to the wall.

Fingers frigid, he slid his hands between his thighs, pulling the ill-fitting shirt down in a vain attempt to cover himself. The grey cotton was useless as a blanket, the fabric worn and thin. His feet felt cold too, even though he still had his socks on, pulled high to his calves. He rubbed his feet together, bare thighs sliding against the floor. The feeling of his skin against concrete made him feel more vulnerable and naked, despite the briefs he still had on. But he knew that the older man only let him keep them because he enjoyed taking them off.

A low noise interrupted that thought. His stomach churned, a deep pain in his middle, gnawing at his insides. It felt like his intestines were being twisted, wrung around tightly, stomach painfully empty. Bringing an arm down to wrap around his middle, his fingers brushed his bruised side, and he winced. He could feel his ribs through the thin fabric of the shirt, far more pronounced than they had been.

He heard another growl, a hollow, low sound deep in his stomach. Sliding his hand back between his thighs to warm up, he let out a soft sigh. He was starving, but not quite to the brink of death just yet. He wondered how long that would take, if it would only be a few days before his body started to eat itself. He imagined the darkness would come shortly after that. But he knew Medic wouldn't let him die. No, he wouldn't do that. Because then he'd have nothing to play with.

.....

.....

Scout had slept fitfully for some time. He hadn't even known he'd fallen asleep until he slowly woke up, mind floating between complete awareness and unconsciousness. The light sleep hadn't dulled the headache, and his body still ached, lying uncomfortably on the hard concrete. He blinked, squinting at the light of the two lightbulbs. There were both on, lighting up the closet only a little, the warm circle of light not reaching the corners. 

His blurred vision cleared up, and he felt his heart abruptly stop when he saw Medic standing over him.

The doctor did not have his coat. His white dress shirt had the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, tie and vest missing. Scout immediately noticed the gloves, red rubber up to the medic's forearms, a stark contrast of color in the dim room. Medic held a syringe between his pointer and middle finger, thumb on the plunger. The metal of the needle glinted, its sharp point reflecting the yellow light.

Scout's eyes immediately caught the syringe, and his breathing shortened, pulse rising with panic. "Oh no...no no no, please...!" Light voice cracking as he begged, he pressed himself further into the corner. Hot dread filled his insides, terrified of the man and fearful of the needle. The cocktail of drugs he was injected with always left him lightheaded and made his body feel weak, completely helpless.

Medic eyed the frightened boy as he flicked the needle. He brought the cylinder up to the light, inspecting it thoroughly for bubbles. Pushed the plunger a bit with his thumb, watching a thin stream of clear liquid shoot out. Drops landed on the concrete. Then he turned his gaze towards Scout, whose blue eyes shifted rapidly from the needle to him and back again.

"Don't vorry." He kneeled down next to the scared boy, reaching out to grip his arm and pulling it towards him. "It vill help you relax." With a tight grip on Scout's forearm, Medic turned it over to expose the blue veins in the crook of his arm. Scout made a hitched, scared noise, trying weakly to pull away. Medic's grip tightened, squeezing until it hurt, pulling the limb closer to the light. He lined up the tip of the needle with a vein, and pierced the skin quickly. Scout winced when the needle was plunged in at an angle, a sharp sting that worsened when Medic shifted the syringe as he pushed down the plunger steadily, emptying the drug into Scout's bloodstream.

Medic watched the liquid drain from the clear cylinder, going past the small tick markings alongside it. He stopped after it was emptied beyond the halfway point, thinking the dose should be enough to leave the boy somewhat compliant. Last time, Medic had injected the entirety of a different combination, and the boy had lost consciousness, much to man's frustration. It wasn't very fun when Scout couldn't even respond.

He pulled out the syringe abruptly, leaving a tiny puncture in Scout's skin, right next to other similar marks. It bled a little bit, and Medic wiped it away with a gloved thumb, smearing it, the dark crimson standing out against the pale skin.

Lifting Scout's chin up, he looked into the boy's terrified eyes, watching the black pupils expand ever so slightly, the light blue of his iris reducing. It had a quick effect. Medic grinned, letting go of Scout's jaw and turning to exit the small closet. Scout watched him leave, catching a little glimpse of the sterile medical equipment in the other room before the door slammed shut, a heavy click indicating Medic had locked it behind him. Scout stared at the closed door for a few seconds, pulse thudding with anxiety as he waited for the older man to inevitably return.

He looked down at the pinprick on the inside of his elbow. It still bled. Using the bottom of his shirt, he dabbed gingerly at the puncture, fabric soaking up the blood rapidly. It didn't stop bleeding, and he let his arm drop to his side, falling limp. He was already weak, and with the drug swirling in his bloodstream he started to feel more than a little faint, leaning against the wall for support as his mind began to swim.

Scout sat there, completely still and feeling how his body ached and slowly numbed away. Like a ragdoll, propped up against the wall.

He jumped, startled at the sudden sound of the door opening again, Medic slipping through quickly before shutting it. He turned towards Scout, who shrunk under Medic's calculating gaze, bringing his knees closer to himself, socks slipping on the smooth concrete. He pressed back into the corner, his body betraying him and starting to shake lightly in terror.

It was a lovely sight, exciting Medic every time he saw the boy curling up fearfully in the corner.

"Finally," Medic's shoes made a low tapping sound with each step as he crossed the room. "I've been vaiting for zis all day."

Scout watched fearfully as the man got closer, whimpering when his ankles were grabbed and his legs tugged, extending them and pulling his body away from the wall, dragged into a lying position.

Scout felt lightheaded as he was suddenly level with the floor, no longer sitting up. The center of his skull throbbed, the headache worsened by the sudden movement and the sedatives. It felt as if his head was full of thick cotton, tense and weighted, a heavy ball sitting atop his neck. Laying still for a few seconds, he stared at the cracked ceiling while his vision swam, feeling hands run up his calves.

He felt the hard concrete against his back, the floor digging into his shoulder blades and spine. He let out a whimper when he felt the older man kneel between his legs, nudging them apart with his hands. Scout reflexively tried to bring his knees together, numb hands fumbling to grasp the hem of his shirt. He pulled the fabric down, trying to cover his crotch.

"No no no, none of zhat." Medic pried Scout's knees apart, the boy's legs easily moved. Scout felt his limbs going somewhat limp by the minute, feeling leaden and loose. Like there was no strength behind them, his movements uncoordinated.

His cold fingers fumbled with the hem of the shirt, digits feeling thick and like they belonged to someone else. Medic smiled, tutting at the weak effort, then gripped Scout's hands and placed them on either side of Scout's head, gloved fingers squeezing his bruised wrists.

"Medic, medic...please," Scout sobbed, the pain of the welts reopening traveling up his forearms. Medic held both of Scout's hands in place, digging his fingers purposefully into the injuries as he pushed them into the concrete.

"Keep zem there."

Scout let his arms go slack above his head, offering little resistance, fearful of provoking the man. He didn't want to be restrained again, have wire dig deeply into his wrists and ankles, taut and inflexible no matter how frantically he thrashed. The little control he had slipped away as his mind whirled with the sedatives, his aching body loosening.

"Such lovely bone structure," Medic murmured to himself, brushing a thumb lightly over Scout's cheekbone, right over the pale lavender of a healing bruise. Dragging his gloved knuckles down the boy's face, he thumbed Scout's lips, pulling his split lower lip down to reveal ivory teeth. Little, shallow breaths escaped the boy's parted mouth, baby blue eyes wide with fear as he tried to lay still for the older man.

Medic swept his thumb over Scout's lower lip absentmindedly, staring intently at the teeth. It was so tempting to just shove his fingers deep in the boy's mouth, pry it open, reach in with thick pliers and pull one out. Keep it in his pocket, so he could just reach down and roll it between his fingers. He could almost hear the clink of metal against enamel, the boy's loud shrieks.

A stray lock of swirled black hair fell loosely over the older man's forehead as he leaned over Scout, hands wandering down the boy's sides. The older man still had his glasses on, and Scout could see a miniature version of his face in their reflection. He looked scared, eyes reddening with lack of sleep, the fading hue of a bruise on his cheek, his brown hair disheveled.

Medic stopped thumbing his lips to trace his windpipe, as if deciding where to slice first. Breath hitching, Scout turned his head away, looking off to the side.

And he saw it. He didn't know how he hadn't noticed it before.

The video camera was a clunky hand held, a squared shape, hard black plastic covering and grip. It was sitting on the floor, the wall opposite to them. He couldn't see the letters on the side, didn't know the model. But he recognized it. It was the same one. Scout felt the blood in his veins run cold, feeling his heart falter, stomach churning with dread. He stared at the lens.

Medic was recording. Medic was  _ recording. _

Scout almost choked on his own breath. The presence of the camera meant a longer session. This wasn't something quick, nothing rushed. He wouldn't be able to just grit his teeth and endure a few minutes. Try to tune out the grunts behind him. No, Medic was recording because he was going to take his time. And he was going to make Scout feel it. It meant torture, if the man was in that particular mood.

He wanted to cry, could feel it almost burst from his chest as his mind raced with what Medic would do to him. Drag extension lines beneath the doorframe, pinch him with clips and run electricity. Watch him choke on his own screams, record how his body convulsed.

Scout jerked when he felt a wet mouth on the inside of his thigh, Medic's right hand bending his leg up at the knee. He placed a line of kisses down Scout's thigh, murmuring against the pale skin. The man's voice was low. It sounded like German to Scout, though he caught something akin to  _ soft, _another word sounding similar to  _ beautiful. _He shivered, trying to close his legs again, and whimpered when Medic pushed them farther apart with ease. A gloved thumb rubbed circles on his calf, massaging the muscle for a few seconds before letting go of both his legs.

His fingers traced up to Scout's hips, touch feathery and light, before sliding under the hem of the shirt and sliding it up. Scout felt the cold air hit his midriff, and he bit on his lip to stop himself from sobbing when the older man kissed his abdomen, below his navel.

Wandering hands avoided Scout's bruised side. Medic eyed the bluish skin, and brought up a hand to nudge it, fingers pressing down. The boy winced, jerking his body away. He tried to clench his hands, his fingers curling weakly. Medic glanced up at Scout's flushed face before going back to the bruise, where he had kicked Scout a few days ago. He couldn't remember what he had been angry about then, only recalling frustration. But he could still visualize the image clearly, the small body trembling and crumpled on the floor.

Scout let his head thud against the concrete, keeping his eyes on the ceiling. He heard the man's voice, murmuring things he didn't understand. Scout swallowed drily, his throat closing and he was acutely aware of how vulnerable he was, thighs spread wide. He choked out a pained moan when Medic bit the inside of his thigh and sucked, grinding the flesh between his teeth. Blue eyes started to water, wetting his eyelashes. He felt the older man's lips twist into a smile against his skin, and Medic pulled away, thumb running over the red mark. It was already starting to bruise, capillaries ruptured beneath the skin and turning purple.

Scout inhaled a shaky breath, the pain in his thigh flaring up and throbbing. Turning, he saw the camera again, the glossy black lens a silent observer. A tiny red light beamed in the viewfinder, a signal that it was actively recording video. Scout stared at the black lens for a few seconds, then off to the concrete wall behind it. His eyes traced the brick lines while Medic's gloved hands traced his body.

He felt a hand on his shoulder before he was suddenly flipped over, and he found himself lying on his stomach, the concrete warm with body heat. He managed to get his arms on the floor first, his jaw hitting his forearms instead of the hard concrete. The center of his head pounded with the sudden rotation, and a constant, faded thrum sounded in his ears. His forehead throbbed and pulsed with a flashing red, hearing a staticky noise. He thought it was the blood rushing through his head, and his heart beat rapidly as he began to panic.

He felt fingers thread through his hair and yank his head forcefully to the side. Medic's face was close to his own, breath rank and hot.

"Look at zhe camera, Scout." The older man growled into his ear, voice deep and rumbling at the back of his throat. The hairs on the back of Scout's neck stood up as a wave of cold fear washed over him, larynx bobbing as he swallowed thickly. The grip on his hair tightened, pulling the strands painfully. Medic yanked again, smiling at the choked sound, then loosened his grip. Scout gingerly lay his head down, pressing his cheek against the floor and facing the recorder.

"Good boy." Medic let go of Scout's hair, brushing through the locks gently, the soft brown contrasting with the bright red of the gloves, the tufts poking between his fingers.

Scout hadn't realized he'd been crying until he felt something wet on his arms, tears trickling around the curvature and falling onto the concrete floor. He felt Medic's hands crawl down his sides until they reached his waist, and he sobbed when they gripped the waistband of his boxer briefs, sliding them down. He felt the fabric brush his legs as the older man took them off.

Scout managed to keep his teary eyes on the lens for a few seconds while Medic fondled his rear, but buried his face into his arms when he felt a gloved finger prod at his entrance. The hand left his body momentarily, and came back wet. He whined, a high-pitched, frightened noise when he felt fingers between his cheeks, spreading something viscous and cool.

"Sh, shh..." Scout heard Medic's voice behind him, shushing him the same way he shushed his doves, and felt two fingers massage the ring of muscle, pressing hard. He sobbed into his arms, pleading muffled, fearing Medic was going to shove something into him, push hard until it came out his mouth.

The older man continued to rub circles, fingers pressing into the flesh, delighted with how the boy cried into the floor, his smaller body trembling.

Medic's hand clamped around Scout's mouth. His buck teeth rubbed against the rubber material, tasting plastic and sharp disinfectant. His head was turned to the side, and his eyes caught the lens of the recorder. He looked directly into it, staring into the blank pool of dark, convex glass.

Scout felt Medic's body over him, the larger man's lips on his earlobe. The concrete was hard against his ribcage, the weight of the taller man heavy and pinning him down. Medic relished how the boy struggled to breath, crushed under the older man's weight and his mouth trapped behind the glove, inhaling rapidly through his nose.

"Shh," Medic whispered into the boy's ear, seeing the panic and terror in the light blue eyes. Chest flush against Scout's back, Medic could feel the ridges of the spine protruding from the malnourished body, bony shoulder baldes tense. Medic pressed his lips to Scout's neck, just below the jaw, feeling the quick, panicked pulse beneath the skin. The boy's little heart would explode if it beat any faster.

Medic continued rubbing the lubricant, gloves slick as he pushed an unyielding finger into Scout, up to the knuckle before pulling out, not bothering to do it slowly. Scout seized up in pain, body aching and his backside still sore from previous abuse. A moan of discomfort died in the boy's throat, his mouth still clamped shut. He felt fingers roughly stroke his anus, pushing another finger in a little before pulling out. Scout's eyelashes were sticking together when he blinked, wet with tears. The rubber over his mouth tasted bitter, like chemicals and melted plastic, the disinfectant smell strong and making his headache worsen as he inhaled it.

Medic pushed his index and middle at the same time, the muscle being stretched forcefully and much too quickly. He adjusted his grip on Scout's jaw, the boy struggling to breath. A muffled wail escaped his throat when Medic pumped the fingers, sliding them in and out repeatedly and roughly. Scout's hands scrabbled to find purchase on the floor, the tips of his fingers numb with clammy static, crushed under Medic and feeling the older man's breath on his neck. He cried out when the fingers inside him curled at a punishing angle, lifting his hips slightly.

Medic pulled his fingers out slowly, gloves slick. He stroked firmly, spreading lubricant, gloved fingertips brushing the boy's testicles. He prodded the base, them right above them, thinking. A thought experiment so far, but Medic wondered if he could give the boy female genitalia instead.

He pulled the cheeks apart, the boy's hole glistening with lubricant in the low light. The older man paused to rub a few more times before inserting three digits all the way. Scout jolted, the fingers relentlessly stretching his opening cruelly. A streak of pain shot up his spine, his headache throbbing and he felt feverish. He wailed, feeling the grip on his jaw tighten and his head forcefully turned towards the camera. The glove clamped over his mouth was wet with tears, shiny streaks reflecting yellow light. He heard Medic's voice in his ear, deep, throaty and menacing. He trembled, warm breath in his earlobe and brushing over the side of his face.

"Arch your back." Medic growled, and Scout whimpered as he did as he was told, struggling to lift his hips from the floor, the fingers still inside him. His body felt leaden and wouldn't respond, his movements slowed with the sedatives.

He felt weight lift off him, and he tried to arch his back, stomach brushing the concrete. The fingers curled, twisting a few times before pulling out, the gloved hand palming his backside before gripping his hip, thumbing his hipbone.

Hearing those shallow, raspy breaths, Medic had to convince himself not to just wrap his hands around the boys throat and squeeze, cutting off the air flow. He imagined slamming the boy's face against the concrete hard, imagined the resounding crack of the skull connecting with the floor and pictured the blood. But he convinced himself not to. No, that would ruin the boy's pretty face, and he didn't want to kill him just yet.

Medic pulled the boy's body to him, turning the slim hips towards the recorder, giving the lens a full view. He slid a hand over the pale abdomen, sliding up the trembling chest and skimming over the ribcage, the bones visible under the skin. They shifted as the boy heaved, gasping behind the plastic, cries gurgling in his throat. Medic's brown pants felt constricting, the muffled pleas exciting him.

Medic leaned down to nose the boy's hair, soft and disheveled. He made sure the boy was facing the camera when he inserted four gloved fingers all the way, relishing how the boy screeched into his palm.

.....

.....

Medic was an organized man. He kept the tapes in a locked drawer of his desk, arranged perfectly in rows. He was neat with his handwriting, flowing black pen on manila labels. He had them organized by date, from oldest to newest, with his own shorthand system describing the contents of each tape. Little combinations of letters, abbreviations only he understood.

The German man leaned back into his chair as he contemplated the rows of black rectangles, eyes skimming over the months as they descended, a couple of tapes per month. He had video footage of hours of sessions, capturing the terrified Scout beautifully.

Selecting one, he plucked it out from its spot. It was a tape from two months ago. He had accidentally messed up one of the capital letters on the label ever so slightly, and it bothered him every time he saw it. Looking down into the drawer, he frowned, noticing another tape had a similar problem, an 's' looking just a bit too crooked for his liking. That would not do.

He took out both tapes and started picking at the edge of the label with his fingernail, trying to lift the edge of the adhesive paper. It began to give way, the paper tearing and lifting from the black plastic of the tape.

He thought of the boy locked in the storage closet. If he paid closer attention, he could make out a faint little sound coming from it, like little cries.

He hadn't been as violent this time, just hurting the boy enough to leave him sobbing. Crumpled on the floor, his smaller body trembling, pale skin feverish. Thin strings of crimson blood running down the back of his thighs, staining the bottom of his shirt, soaking into the material of his socks as he pulled his legs closer to himself. Curled up in the corner and pressing himself to the wall, hoping the concrete would swallow him. Medic could hear the weak voice behind the door.

Sometimes it irked him how much he cried.


End file.
